


Minutes to Midnight

by agent_starbuck



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Character Study, Early Days, F/M, Fluff, Jealous Fox Mulder, New Year's Eve, Romance, Slow Dancing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 00:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_starbuck/pseuds/agent_starbuck
Summary: There had been this inexplicable feeling deep in the pit of his stomach since earlier in the day. He'd actually been anticipating, rather than dreading, this Gala, and he wasn't entirely sure why.Or maybe he was, but he didn't want to admit it to himself.The promise of an evening spent next to Scully, an evening where they could take some time to actually enjoy one another's company away from work and not under the auspices of solving a murder or chasing aliens, was oddly invigorating.





	Minutes to Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Scully and Mulder are obligated to attend a New Year's Gala.
> 
> Set sometime between season 2 and 3, before Melissa's death.
> 
> (I wrote this fanfic when I started watching the show, before I even realized that Scully and Mulder's first, cannon kiss was during New Year's. It is my very first MSR story.)

Scully steps out of the steaming shower, quickly wrapping a towel around herself, before scurrying off to her bedroom, droplets of water staining the carpet as she goes.

 

Upon reaching the threshold, her eyes immediately search for the clock on her nightstand.

 

8:45 pm.

 

She was going to have to hurry to make it to the New Year's Gala on time.

 

Normally, she'd have found some excuse to skip it this year, like she does every year, but AD Skinner was adamant that she and Mulder show up. Something about them needing to drink and mingle with the Bureau's elite members who write their paychecks.

 

Mulder was even less enthused than she, but reluctantly agreed after Skinner decided to give him a yearly stipend for his sunflower seed addiction.

 

A grown man reduced to bribing another grown man. They could be so juvenile, sometimes. Yet, she found it endearing.

 

She traipses over to her closet.

 

Goosbumps start to form on her pale flesh, and a shiver wracks her body unexpectedly. It really is freezing outside, but the cold isn't the only thing making her body respond accordingly. She is unusually anxious.

 

Standing in front of her closet door, she stares at the sleek, silvery, sequined dress boldly hanging there-- almost taunting her.

 

She saw it last week when she and her sister went dress shopping, and it was probably the most daring, flashy, un-Scully-like thing she'd ever tried on in her life. So, at the insistence of Melissa, she bought it... and now she was having second thoughts.

 

It wasn't that she didn't feel comfortable in her own skin. She knew she had a nice body. Several of her past lovers had said as much, and she'd be remiss if she didn't notice the lewd stares she was often the receiving end of by her male colleagues.

 

Such was the price to pay for working in the Good Ol' Boy's Club.

 

Mulder was different, however.

 

Though he often stared at her, she never detected even a hint of impropriety behind his gazes.

 

He didn't stare _through_ her, as if trying to mentally undress her with his eyes. He stared _within_ her, shattering her well-secured defenses like he was trying to reach the depths of her soul to discover a truth yet unwilling to reveal itself.

 

He was always after the truth, no matter what form.

 

To be honest, she didn't know which was more unsettling.

 

However, as much as she respected and admired him for his professional decorum-- his ability to see her as an equal in all aspects-- she secretly wished he'd acknowledge her as just a woman.

 

Subconsciously, it's probably the reason she actually agreed to buy the dress her sister so enthusiastically picked out for her...

 

Another shiver takes control of her body, shaking her from her thoughts, before she gives herself a quick mental peptalk, and slips on her robe to do her hair and makeup.

 

Her hair is just getting long enough to twist it up and pin it behind her head-- though there are a few loose tendrils that cannot be tamed, and she decides to leave them be.

 

Her makeup is a little bolder than her everyday look, especially her eyeliner, but she keeps it somewhat toned down. She never did feel comfortable wearing lots of make-up.

 

Plus, she already has the unwanted attention of many of the Bureau's male population even with her professional suits and modest makeup. She need not give them more ammunition to ogle and slobber over her while she's donning a more provocative look.

 

As she steps inside her dress, and zips it up, she can't help but smile to herself as the thought of her partner briefly crosses her mind.

 

_'I wonder what Mulder will think.'_

 

Surprised by the sudden, unwelcome thought, she internally chastises herself.

 

_'God, Dana, it doesn't matter what Mulder thinks. He's your partner.'_

 

Lately, however, she's been finding herself unable to ignore that knot in her stomach when they hold eye contact for longer than appropriate.

 

Or when he manages to sneak little, innocent touches at the end of a particularly stressful day.

 

It's so distracting, sometimes, that her mind goes completely blank; paralyzed as though his touch or gaze has penetrated her skin so profoundly that it severs the connection between her neural impulses, rendering her completely helpless.

 

She's always quick to recover-- acting like he doesn't possess the uncanny ability to reduce her to a stammering idiot-- because she dare not let that practiced, intellectual poise of hers falter. Especially in his presence.

 

Many times, she tries to rationalize his actions as Mulder simply being Mulder; that it's his instinctive nature to be passionate and intense, which could often be misconstrued as being outwardly flirtatious or forward.

 

She's become an expert at mentally fielding his unintended, arbitrary advances towards her. It's nothing new.

 

This certain chemistry between them has always been present-- nearly since their first case together when she disrobed in front of him that fateful, rainy night in Oregon.

 

There may have been a power outage, but there existed no shortage of electricity in the air between them when he knelt down to examine her skin under candlelight.

 

For her, that moment in time held a pivotal turn in the perception of their relationship.

 

At first, she almost regarded Mulder as an annoying, somewhat overzealous older brother. That's why she ultimately felt at ease enough around him to allow him to see her in her underwear.

 

There were no pretenses of underlying attraction between the two of them, nothing to indicate their relationship was anything but platonic, until she turned and burried her face against his chest in a moment of vulnerability.

 

The way in which he held her-- first hesitantly, then tenderly-- made her melt just a little inside. He didn't admonish or even belittle her for giving into a moment of weakness. He genuinely just seemed concerned for her.

 

In spite of, or probably because of, that incident, they've always respected the boundaries of their partnership.

 

But that doesn't mean it's always easy to steer her thoughts away from those bordering on the inappropriate.

 

 _'I'm a professional,'_ she repeats like a mantra.

 

 _'Tonight is just another night on the clock--'_ she tells herself.

 

_'Albeit a night on the clock where drinking is encouraged and my attire is anything but workplace appropriate.'_

 

She sighs.

 

It's going to be a long night.

 

Finding her matching strappy heels tucked away in a box in her closet, she struggles to balance herself as she puts them on, standing in front of the full-length mirror.

 

She definitely likes what sees.

 

Taking a deep breath, she throws on her coat, grabs her clutch, and dashes out her door into the cold, winter night.

 

* * *

 

Mulder climbs out of the cab, and makes his way past the valet parking attendant, through the revolving doors, and into the spectacularly large, open hotel lobby.

 

Pausing a minute, he adjusts to his new surroundings, feeling a little overwhelmed by the grandiosity of it all, before searching for a familiar face in the isolated crowds scattered throughout the lobby.

 

"Agent Mulder, I'm impressed. You actually decided to show up."

 

He turns to see Skinner standing before him, looking rather smart in a full tuxedo.

 

Mulder grins smugly.

 

"Well, I considered catching re-runs of The Twilight Zone on TV, but then I thought about all those sunflower seeds I could purchase on the taxpayer's behalf, and I just couldn't pass that up."

 

His tone is half sarcastic, half serious.

 

"Funny. I'm going upstairs to the ballroom," he remarks, dryly.

 

"If you talk to Scully, before she gets here, tell her to check in at the front desk. We're in room B-2."

 

"Yes, sir," he replies, while shoving his hands nervously in his pockets, trying to casually glance over to the door without acting too anxious.

 

He shuffles his feet as though the act will physically shake away the excess nervous energy coursing throughout his body.

 

If he was being honest, sunflower seeds weren't his only motivation for coming to the Gala tonight.

 

He surreptitiously takes a peek at his watch.

 

She's late.

 

Mulder has never been particularly fond of drinking, but he decides he needs something to calm his nerves, and calls Scully's cellphone to relay Skinner's instructions upon her arrival, as he heads for the elevator.

 

He waits impatiently as it climbs to the top of the building, before stepping off, and allowing the muffled sound of live music to guide him to his destination.

 

Immediately, he's surprised by the large amount of people crammed into the moderate space, and almost starts to regret his decision to come.

 

He hates these types of functions.

 

There is an extravagant stage set up with a rather impressive orchestra playing jazzy music to his right. An impromptu dance area makes up a small portion of the middle of the room, with round tables lining the outskirts, complete with crisp white tablecloths and ostentatious centerpieces. Gold and silver balloons and streamers dot the landscape throughout, giving the atmosphere a certain festive ambience.

 

 _'Boy, the FBI sure knows how to throw a party,'_ he mutters to himself.

 

Making his way through the sea of black dinner coats and sparkly dresses to the open bar in the corner, he fights his way between eager party goers waiting impatiently for their drink, motioning for the bartender.

 

Mulder finally gets his attention.

 

"Double Scotch on the rocks, please. Your preference."

 

His taste in alcohol hasn't varied much since his college days at Oxford. He used to drink expensive Scotch as a way to impress the ladies though, now, it just reminds him of his father-- a thought that should depress him but, oddly, gives him a sense of nostalgia. The pungent aroma always takes him back to long, summer nights in Massachusetts, when his dad used to sit on the porch, drink in hand, watching him and his sister catching fireflies.

 

Nursing his drink, he leans against the counter, watching people dance and sway to the live orchestral music, happy couples eager to ring in the new year.

 

His thoughts unexpectedly turn to his partner, and he wonders where she could be. Maybe he should call her...

 

There had been this inexplicable feeling deep in the pit of his stomach since earlier in the day. He'd actually been anticipating, rather than dreading, this Gala, and he wasn't entirely sure why.

 

Or maybe he was, but he didn't want to admit it to himself.

 

The promise of an evening spent next to Scully, an evening where they could take some time to actually enjoy one another's company away from work and not under the auspices of solving a murder or chasing aliens, was oddly invigorating.

 

He'd never publicly admit it-- hell, he has a hard time even admitting it to himself, but he's attracted to Scully; more than he ever thought possible since she walked into his life two years ago.

 

It was her brilliant mind and fearless disposition that first captivated him. She was unlike any woman he'd ever had the privilege of working with.

 

Though they don't always see eye to eye, he has to admit that he loves the ways in which she challenges him: intellectually, professionally, personally.

 

Scully makes him want to be a better man.

 

She sees past his capricious and neurotic tendencies, smooths out his rough edges, making him more rounded, and brings out strengths he didn't even realize he possessed.

 

He admires so many things about her that developing a physical attraction to her almost feels like he's doing her a disservice-- like he's no better than all the other misogynistic men that immediately reduce her down to just a pretty face with a badge and a gun.

 

Scully will always be so much more than that to him.

 

Which is why it's so difficult to allow himself to notice just how absolutely beautiful she really is.

 

He adores her big, expressive eyes-- so blue and clear that he could get lost in them for days... her full, luscious lips that he often spends way too long looking at when she speaks... her incredible smile.

 

On the rare occasion he's able to say something just witty or funny enough for her professional facade to crumble, allowing him a full glimpse at her genuine smile, he goes weak in the knees.

 

If he's honest with himself, that's why he's always cracking jokes around her.

 

And that's just everything he admires about her from the neck up.

 

He's rarely afforded the luxury of seeing her in anything but buttoned up shirts and oversized blazers, but he's certain she's hiding a fit little body under all those layers. He more or less knows it as indisputable fact since that night in Oregon, though it seems like a lifetime ago...

 

He keeps the faded image of her creamy skin and sensible underwear tucked tightly away in the recesses of his mind-- only selfishly allowing himself access to it on lonely nights alone on his sofa. But like anything too beautiful to behold for too long, the memory has begun to wither and expire, leaving him with fragmented bits and pieces that he's desperate to hold on to.

 

Tonight, however, holds the promise of new experiences, new memories, and that thought, alone, is what makes the anticipation of seeing her almost unbearable. His heart feels like it might beat out of his chest.

 

The alcohol finally dulls his overactive nerves, and he feels his muscles beginning to relax.

 

He notices a few attractive-looking women glance his direction, before giggling and whispering to themselves as they make their way towards him.

 

"Hey, you're Spooky Mulder, right? We've heard a lot around the office about you," the blonde says as she places one of her beaded party necklaces around his neck.

 

"Seen anything extraordinary lately?" she asks, seductively.

 

Slowly, she begins to pull him by the necklace onto the dance floor, but he freezes just as he spots a certain petite redhead in the entryway.

 

His heart skips a beat.

 

"Yeah, maybe," he smiles, his eyes fixed on his partner's form, as he takes off the necklace and excuses himself.

 

"Sorry, ladies..." he trails off before walking in Scully's direction, trying hard not to lose his cool, calm demeanor, but failing miserably.

 

Scully turns around just as Mulder comes up behind her.

 

His mouth goes dry at the sight of his partner.

 

The dress she's wearing is more breathtaking than he ever imagined it could be.

 

The silvery-blue color matches the shade of her eyes _perfectly_ , and accentuates the deep titian hue in her hair. It's sleeveless and cut so dangerously low in the front that her sternum is almost entirely exposed, revealing the outline of her perfectly sized breasts, and leaving little to the imagination. It hugs the curves of her hips and flows effortlessly down her lean legs to the very high, strappy heels she's wearing. And her skin... there's _so_ much exposed skin that his eyes don't know where to go first.

 

"Jesus, Scully, you look gorgeous," Mulder says, almost breathlessly, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he even knows what he is saying.

 

She looks away, a blush creeping over her cheeks.

 

Panic fills his mind at the realization that he probably-- definitely, just crossed a line, and he tries to backtrack, jokingly adding "Where'd you hide your gun, though?"

 

"In my thigh holster," she replies without a beat.

 

Mulder's heart suddenly speeds up at the notion of his partner packing heat while wearing something so... alluring. He has to close his eyes, and physically stop himself from searching for where she could've possibly hidden it in such a dress.

 

"Why? Didn't you bring yours?" she asks, genuinely confused at his question.

 

 _'God, get it together, Mulder,'_ he tells himself.

 

Taking a deep breath, he attempts to compose himself.

 

"No. I, um... well, I didn't think I'd need it," he clears his throat, nodding to the bar.

 

"You, uh, want a drink?"

 

He ushers her through the crowded room, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back.

 

She's inwardly cursing herself, but slightly thankful, that Melissa chose an open-backed dress. The feel of his fingers on her bare skin is enough to make her feel intoxicated, and she hasn't even had anything to drink yet.

 

She's equally taken aback by how dashing her partner looks wearing a dinner suit. He could make James Bond look like a street beggar. It is definitely tailor made by the way that it fits him in all the right places, showing off his lean physique, and different than the slightly oversized, practical suits she usually sees him in. She never thought he'd be one to own something so stuffy.

 

 _'I guess we're both full of surprises tonight,'_ she thinks to herself.

 

She has no idea.

 

They arrive at the bar, and Mulder orders another Scotch along with a glass of rosé for Scully.

 

Nudging her with his elbow playfully, he glances down at her with a smirk.

 

"Let's go find Skinner's table so we can 'drink and mingle,' he says gesturing with air quotes, his tone mocking.

 

Scully shakes her head while letting out a nervous laugh. Her insides still haven't stopped twisting and turning since she first laid eyes on her partner. And if the way he stared at her was any indication, he was probably harboring some of those same feelings.

 

* * *

 

They spot Skinner sitting at a table near the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room, along with many of the FBIs higher-ups.

 

There are exactly two seats left, placed at complete opposite ends of the table, and Mulder motions for Scully to take the one by Skinner, pulling out her chair for her in, what he hopes is, a chivalrous act, before seating himself at the other end.

 

As the night progresses, they engage in small, meaningless chitchat-- relegating nonspecific details about the X-Files, and avoiding any topics of conversation that would cast the work they do in a more unconventional light than it's already in.

 

They take turns alternating polite nods and fake smiles, feigning interest in hearing about vacations to Europe or which investments to make in the current economic climate-- their lives a far cry from those who manage to rein in a six-figure salary working for the government.

 

Throughout the entire time, Scully can't help but feel Mulder's eyes on her-- his oppressive gaze making her squirm in her seat. They're sitting directly opposite one another, which makes it worse, and she nearly excuses herself to seek refuge in the ladies room where she can regain some composure, but doesn't want Mulder to notice something is wrong, so she suffers through in delicious agony.

 

After what seems like a torturously long amount of time, many of the table's occupants leave to join their spouses or partners on the dancefloor, and relief washes over the agents' faces at finally being able to escape their obligations for the night. That is, until an older gentleman suddenly corners Scully, and asks her to dance.

 

Caught off guard, she shoots Mulder a helpless look of panic, before reluctantly agreeing, and accompanying him to the center of the room.

 

Mulder covertly makes his way to the crowd of the people along dancefloor, trying not to draw Scully's attention, as he watches them from afar.

 

He can feel his heart catch in his throat at the sight of someone else's hands on his partner's skin. Jealousy isn't a feeling he's very well acquainted with, but it hits him, now, full force.

 

Scully's attempts at keeping a respectable distance between herself and her dance partner are made in vain as he repeatedly violates her personal space. His hands seem to have a mind of their own, his face is a little too close to hers for comfort, and she begins to wonder how she's going to escape this predicament without making a scene and drawing her gun on him.

 

Mulder notices how uncomfortable she is, and he wonders if it would be bad form to barge his way in between them, and save Scully from what is clearly an awkward moment for her.

 

He can imagine her scowling at him, telling him that she doesn't need to be rescued, that she can take care of herself, and he knows all too well that she can.

 

He just doesn't want her to have to.

 

The man's hands begin sliding indiscreetly towards her ass, and that's all the motivation Mulder needs to jump into action. He's silently thankful he didn't bring his gun as he makes his way to the dancefloor, the blood boiling in his veins.

 

"Ahem." He clears his throat a little too obnoxiously. He doesn't care.

 

"Mind if I cut in?" he asks through gritted teeth, trying to pass it off as a smile.

 

Scully gives him a pointed look-- the kind that would send any lesser man running for the hills, but he's unfazed.

 

Without waiting for a reply, Mulder physically moves in between them to take Scully in his arms. The man makes an annoying huff of protest before deciding not to make a scene, and walks away.

 

"Mulderrr--"

 

"Yeah, yeah," he interrupts. "I know. You had it under control. Honestly, I was just saving him from the embarrassment of getting his ass handed to him in front of the entire DC field office-- by a woman in heels, no less."

 

He glances down at her, giving her his best, playful smile. The annoyance she felt only moments earlier begins to wane at the sight of him, and she can't help the small grin that sneaks across her face.

 

"Thank you," she says, almost too quiet for him to hear through all the noise. She feels herself relaxing in his arms.

 

The relief he detects in her features emboldens him, and he moves closer, sneaking his hand around to her back, tugging her to him slightly. She bites her lip to prevent a gasp from escaping at the abruptness of his actions.

 

The room begins to fade away, and the only thing her mind can focus on is the closeness of his body to hers-- the heat radiating off of it, warming her to the core. Every nerve ending is set ablaze by the feel of where their bodies are connected, and the rush of endorphins is making her feel dizzy.

 

He silently wonders if it's okay to be dancing this way with his partner, and if wanting this makes him any worse than the man he chased away moments earlier, but the scent of her shampoo, and the feel of her quick breath on his neck is making coherent thought impossible.

 

He moves his face closer to hers, almost resting his chin against the side of her head. His breath tickles the shell of her ear.

 

"Plus, there would have been a pile of paperwork and incident reports to fill out and, frankly, he's not worth it," he continues in the interest of distracting her from the intimacy of their situation.

 

It doesn't work.

 

The low timber of his voice vibrates the tiny hairs in her ear, sending a wave of pleasure straight to her belly.

 

The part of her brain that processes speech has since stopped functioning, consumed only with thoughts of the man in her arms, and she realizes that he's become silent, as well-- the gentle motion of their bodies now the only communication between them.

 

Soft music plays in the background as they careen and sway along, establishing their own unique rhythm that seems to ignore the basic concepts of time and tempo.

 

They're lost in this little universe they've constructed, oblivious to anything that exists outside the gravitational pull their movements are creating-- life around them at a standstill.

 

Scully wonders if this is what it feels like to be sucked into a vortex-- where the energy crackles with such profound intensity that one can't comprehend the concept of anything existing beyond the force of its power.

 

She could stay like this forever.

 

The change of music jolts her out of her reverie and, suddenly, she's all to aware of how physically close they are.

 

Her head has come to rest against his shoulder on its own volition, his solid arms completely enveloping them in a cozy embrace. His fingers are etching lazy patterns into the skin on her back, cheek pressed tightly against her head.

 

The commotion of their surroundings begins to bleed its way into her hazy thoughts, and she quickly becomes aware of the amused glances and stares they're receiving from their colleagues.

 

Mulder notices her partner stiffen in his arms and he, too, snaps back into reality, feeling a pang of embarrassment at his lack of indiscretion.

 

At the protest of every fiber in her body, she extricates herself from Mulder's warm body, and attempts to steady her breathing.

 

She looks up at him timidly, her face flushed red, pupils dilated, and he has the sudden urge to reach down and capture her lips with his.

 

 _'Dammit, Mulder, now is not the time,'_ he rebukes himself.

 

"I, uh, have to..." she attempts to give an excuse, but she's too flustered, words failing to form in her mind.

 

Instead, she turns, and quickly makes her way through the crowd to the balcony outside.

 

Mulder is left dumbfounded, staring at the space she occupied only moments earlier, the tips of his ears burning from mortification, before coming to, and trying to discern in which direction she scurried off.

 

* * *

 

The air is crisp and frigid, but feels marvelous against her flushed skin.

 

She walks over to the railing, the clack of her heels echoing off the walls around her, and she's relieved to discover the absence of any other party goers. It seems nobody is crazy enough to brave the cold except her.

 

It's eerily quiet out. She hears nothing except the sound of her beating heart and strangled breathing. Puffs of visible air leave her mouth with each breath, drifting off into the cold, dark night.

 

Her heart rate and breathing begin to even out as she leans on the ice cold rails in front of her, goosebumps forming on her flesh at the contact, but she's too distracted to notice, eyes focusing, instead, on the twinkle of city lights in the distance.

 

She hears the door open quietly behind her, and her heart instantly skips a beat.

 

Closing her eyes, and drawing a shaky breath into her lungs, she turns to see Mulder casually walking towards her, jacket slung over his shoulder.

 

"You know, that's a good way to catch a cold," he nods at her lack of proper clothing.

 

"It's a myth that people become infected with a respiratory virus from simple cold exposure," she looks up at him as he hands her his jacket, slightly annoyed at how chivalrous he could be sometimes.

 

Snatching it from his hands with a quick eye roll, she drapes it around her shoulders, the scent of him immediately flooding her senses, and stirring something deep inside her.

 

They stand for a few moments before Scully brakes the silence.

 

"I just had to get some air," answering the question Mulder hadn't gotten around to asking her just yet.

 

"I'm fine. It's just a little... hot in there."

 

He acknowledges her with a nod before staring out into the distance, wondering whether or not to actually believe her.

 

"Scully, look I'm, uh, sorry about what happened back there," he offers, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously, refusing to meet her eyes.

 

"To which part are you referring?" she asks calmly, though it's far from how she feels.

 

 _'She's really going to make me say it?'_ he thinks.

 

He clears his throat nervously.

 

"The, uh, 'dancing-a-little-too-closely-in front-of-everyone' part."

 

She nods, and waits a beat before responding-- unsure if she should actually say the words echoing throughout her head until she realizes they've already slipped past her lips.

 

"I'm not."

 

His dark eyes immediately lock onto hers at the unexpected admission, but his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of clock bells ringing in the distance, seemingly startling them both.

 

It's midnight.

 

The muted, yet distinct melody of "Auld Lang Syne," along with the sound of people cheering, can be heard inside the building.

 

They stand, intently watching one another, as the visual evidence of their labored breathing dances and mingles in the cold air between them.

 

He fights yet another impulsive urge to kiss her and, as if his thoughts are on a vendetta against him, his gaze suddenly drifts to her lips.

 

They're plump and slightly parted, her front teeth peaking out a little behind them, her hot breath escaping in pants. She looks ravishing.

 

He looks back up, meeting her eyes, and the breath catches in his throat at the sight.

 

The pure want and need he's feeling at this very moment is reflected back at him through her gaze, except there isn't even a hint of uncertainty to be detected.

 

She wants him to kiss her. She's daring him-- even.

 

He moves closer, then, as if his body suddenly has a mind of its own.

 

 _'I can't believe I'm about to do this._  
_I should definitely stop. I should definitely... definitely stop.'_ he thinks.

 

His heart is beating so violently against his chest, he can hear nothing but the sound of blood rushing through his head, and he wonders if Scully can hear it, too.

 

Searching her eyes for any evidence of hesitation, he slowly ducks his head, bringing his lips closer to hers, the feel of her breath on his skin sending shivers up his spine.

 

He ghosts his lips, ever so slightly, against hers.

 

Suddenly, there's a loud bang with a flash across the sky.

 

They both jump backwards at the sound, their bodies on high alert, before they hear another bang, then another, confusion etched across their faces as they frantically look around for the cause.

 

After a moment, they realize it's only fireworks being set off a few blocks away, and they both sigh in relief.

 

As their eyes meet, they burst out into spontaneous laughter, feeling a little silly at what just happened-- or rather what was about to happen.

 

The irony that fireworks were literally going off as soon as their lips almost touched was not lost on them.

 

Scully glances over at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement, her smile beaming. She looks so alive.

 

"Mulder, I was _certain_ that a UFO was about to come crashing down on top of us just now," she laughs. "I've spent _way_ too much time around you."

 

He looks back at her, pretending to be shocked.

 

"Who'd have ever thought I'd get _Dana Scully_ to believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?" he chuckles. "Surely, this is one for the record books."

 

Their laughter slowly begins to fade as they're brought back to Earth. They stand, smiling like idiots at one another.

 

"Happy New Year, Scully," he finally says.

 

"Happy New Year, Mulder."

 

 

 

 


End file.
